


depersonalization

by whitencise



Category: No Fandom, None - Fandom
Genre: Depersonalization, Derealization, Gen, Mental Illness, Mindfuck, Rant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitencise/pseuds/whitencise
Summary: this is what it feels like





	depersonalization

we make fantasy such a reality that it’s indistinguishable from each other. referencing to a fantasy can’t help the fantasy or reality we could be living in. you can’t tell me that the arm that reaches out to grasp to anything is a true arm. dissecting this makes less sense. re-evaluating it’s insides make you wish you never wondered in the first place and when you’re there- you forget. getting caught up in the tangles of dissection and coming back to the surface of built up fuzz, people ask what’s wrong. don’t you ever wonder if the feet you place on this unstable ground are your real feet or a real surface, don’t you ever cross the path of that thought? don’t you ever want to escape to where a reality is confirmed- to where a reality is fixed and senses are different. where you can’t see or touch but perceive differently? that’s where i feel like i belong. i forget and i forget, dear god, i forget all the time. i’ve forgotten how i’ve ended up here, my footsteps reversed and erased. these memories that seem so precious feel false and implemented. how so apparent yet so false. a false hope of reality throws me down more, giving me reason to run away- back home. i don’t remember where home is but that place feels true. where my body will morph into shapes and then lay dormant with no adversity slapping my lifeless body. my only home and hopes of returning feel fake, these letters and words thrown at me. they all seem so unfamiliar and uncomfortable but i know what they are. a space so empty with room to play with chaos while playing with silence, an unrealistic balance made, hoping that it could be a remedy to go back. i wish i was never promised with the idea that the hair that falls on my face and the arm that i reach out was real. 

the only remedy i can find is searching for a nonexistent concrete confirmation. no, a god can’t help me because when i believed in him and put my faith in him and prayed i was never saved. this was the moment i was thrown into all of this. and escaping from that gives me a kind of confirmation.

i don’t know exactly what i want but i want something. the underneaths of my skin irk for reality. when i reach out, i want to be bitten back. i don’t want my skin to feel a level of unexplainable numbness, to a point where when i rip my skin and glue it back together i feel it all

but i don’t.

it feels like a thick shell that can never be pierced to finally reach a gold mine. i feel every single thing on my skin but suddenly all touch disintegrates and my skin is robotic. my mind feels robotic. and suddenly in that moment i fear nothing but everything. if i’m not content with this existence then i don’t know what other existence to feel content with. because this is all i know.

there is no solid answer and i feel like there will never be


End file.
